Call of the Kiwi (16 page)

“I’d like to see the tree first,” Charlotte said. The lighthouse keeper shook his head but pointed toward the cliffs.

“Over there. It’s a rather stunted thing, though. I don’t know why the natives make such a big fuss about it. It has to do with some spirits, and supposedly there’s an entrance to the underworld there.”

“And? Seen anything?” Jack joked.

The keeper, a bearded roughneck, shrugged. “I’m a good Christian, sir. Even if my ancestors brought their superstitions from Ireland, I keep the door closed on Samhain. But early in the year, the weather is usually so stormy that you wouldn’t want to go chasing ghosts out of doors, if you know what I mean, sir.”

Jack laughed. His mother had sometimes scared him as a child with Samhain, All Saints’ Day. At that time the gates between the human and spirit world were supposedly not entirely closed, and sometimes you could see ghosts. Charlotte looked wistfully across the sea as Jack chatted with the lighthouse keeper.

“Are there any Maori settlements up here?” she asked.

“My wife researches native mythology,” Jack added by way of explanation.

The keeper shook his head. “No permanent ones in the direct vicinity. Nothing grows here, after all. What would the people live on? But there are always tribes camped on the beach, fishing and making music. There are some there at the moment. The Maori don’t take the overland route up here. They always take the path up from the beach, which, overall, is nicer. But it’s a steep slope. It’s not for you, madame.” He smiled apologetically.

“But there must be some other way to reach the camp, right?” Jack asked.

“Yes, come in, have some tea, and I’ll explain it to you.”

Charlotte only followed reluctantly. She seemed unable to pull herself away from the sight of the frothing sea. Jack too found the meeting of the seas fascinating, but a strong wind had picked up, and it was getting cold.

“Unfortunately I can’t offer you a place to stay,” the man said regretfully. “Do you have a tent in your wagon? You won’t be able to make it back to Kaitaia today.”

“The Maori will take us in,” Charlotte said. Though the lighthouse keeper seemed rather skeptical, Jack agreed.

“We’ve often stayed with them overnight. They’re very hospitable. Especially when you speak their language. So how do we get to them?”

It was growing dark when they reached the tribe’s camp, which consisted of a few rather primitive tents. At the center was a fire over which several large fish were roasting.

The tribe looked friendly, and when Jack greeted the children who approached them in Maori, the ice was broken immediately. The children were permitted to care for the horses, which they clearly enjoyed, and the adults asked Jack and Charlotte to join them at the fire.

“Are you here for the spirits?” Jack inquired uncertainly after they had been offered roasted sweet potatoes and fresh fish. “I mean, that’s the way it works for the
pakeha
. People go on pilgrimages to spiritual places.”

Tipene, the chieftain, frowned. “We’re here for the fish,” he explained in the usual pragmatic style of the Maori. “A lot of them bite this time of year, and we like fishing. If you want, you can join us tomorrow.”

Jack nodded. The Maori performed a sort of surf fishing that he’d never tried before.

“Then the women will have all day to talk,” he said.

Tipene laughed. “They’ll be conjuring the spirits,” he explained. “Irihapeti is a
tohunga
. No one speaks more beautifully of Hawaiki than she.”

He pointed to an old woman who had been deep in conversation with Charlotte for a long time. Jack was worried that it might be too much for her, but the women were already wrapped in blankets against the evening chill, and Irihapeti was placing another one around Charlotte’s shoulders. Charlotte sipped at a steaming cup. Clearly she was content. Jack nonetheless detected a tension in her features that he did not like.

“Did you take your medicine, love?” he asked.

Charlotte nodded, but she looked like she was suffering. Jack recalled Dr. Friedman’s words with unease: “Medicine that works reliably, at least for a while.” But after such a stressful day, surely it was reasonable for Charlotte to look exhausted.

“Tell me about the spirits, Irihapeti,” Charlotte said. “
Te rerenga wairua
means ‘jumping-off place of the spirits,’ does it not?”

Te rerenga wairua
was the Maori name for Cape Reinga.

Irihapeti nodded and made room around the fire as a group of children pressed around her to hear the story.

“Whenever one of us dies,” said the
tohunga
in a quiet, conjuring voice, “his spirit wanders to the north. Then he is pulled down to the sea, to this beach. If you close your eyes, you might feel a light breeze whenever one passes through our camp.” A small girl shivered, and Irihapeti drew her close. “No, you needn’t fear it, Pai. Merely welcome the soul.” The moon was rising over the sea and bathing the beach in surreal light. “From here the spirits climb the cliffs, over exactly the path we took this morning.

“And then they weave rope of seaweed and descend to the
pohutukawa
tree up north. Have you seen it, Charlotte? It’s many hundreds of years old. Perhaps its seed came with our ancestors from Hawaiki. The spirits leap from the tree, falling down to the roots, and then deeper still, down to Reinga.”

“That’s a sort of underworld, isn’t it?” Charlotte asked. Jack noticed that she was not taking notes.

The old woman nodded. “The way then leads them to Ohaua, where the spirits once more enter the light to say good-bye to Aotearoa. And the
n . . .
”

Ohaua was the highest point on the three small islands across from the coast.

“Then they never come back,” Charlotte said quietly.

“Then they wander to Hawaiki, to the motherland.” The old woman smiled. “You’re very tired, aren’t you, child?”

Charlotte nodded.

“Why don’t you go to bed, dearest?” Jack asked. “You must be completely worn out. You can hear about the spirits tomorrow.”

Charlotte nodded again. Her face looked almost empty. While she stared into the fire, Jack fetched their tent and Irihapeti showed him a place to set it up by the sea; the waves would sing the visitors to sleep.

Expecting to make contact with a Maori tribe, Charlotte and Jack had brought along a few gifts. Planting seeds for the women and a bottle of whiskey to contribute a bit to the mood around the campfire. Jack got them out now. Charlotte was ready to retire.

“I’ll join you soon,” Jack said tenderly and kissed her as they parted. Irihapeti gently laid her hand on Charlotte’s cheek.

“
Haere mai
,” she said quietly, “you’re welcome here.”

Jack started. He must have misunderstood something. Concerned, he took a big gulp of whiskey before passing the bottle. She smiled at him. Perhaps he was just a bit drunk.

While the men drank, Irihapeti and a few other women reached for their flutes, which surprised Jack anew. The Maori rarely accompanied conversation with music and hardly ever started in the middle of the night. But the women played quietly and reflectively, and more than once Jack caught the celebrated spirit voice of the
putorino
flute. Maybe the customs of the North Island were different, or perhaps this was part of some ritual that was celebrated here especially for departing spirits.

When Jack finally crept into his tent, he was tired from the whiskey, the monotonous flute music, and the men’s long stories. It was a little eerie being lulled to sleep by the spirit voices, but it did not seem to trouble Charlotte. She appeared to be slumbering soundly next to him. Jack’s heart was filled with tenderness as he looked at her in their primitive camp, her loose hair spread out on the blanket, her face not entirely relaxed, however. How long had it been since he had seen her sleep peacefully, unburdened by pain and fear? He pushed the thought aside. Charlotte was doing better; she would recover. He kissed her lightly on the forehead as he lay down beside her. Then he fell asleep.

Charlotte had been hearing the voices of the spirits all night. They had begun calling her as a gentle enticement, but now it was growing more insistent, more inviting. It was time.

Charlotte stood up and felt her way out of the tent. Jack was sleeping; it was better that way. She gave him a last look full of love. One day, in the sunshine of an island somewhere in the se
a . . .

She followed the path Irihapeti had shown her, which rose steeply away from the beach. The moon provided just enough light, and Charlotte moved steadily but without haste. She did not feel alone. There were other souls sharing the climb with her. Charlotte thought she heard them whispering and laughing in excitement and anticipation but not fear. Now and again she stopped and looked down at the sea shining like crystal in the moonlight. Somewhere down there was Jack. When she passed the lighthouse, she tread cautiously among the shadows to avoid waking up the lighthouse keeper. The storm-tossed
pohutukawa
tree was not visible from the lighthouse. When she reached it, she was to weave a rope of seaweed. That had struck her as strange during Irihapeti’s story. She would have to ask someone about it.

Charlotte smiled. No, she would not be writing down any more legends. She would instead become part of them. She stepped to the edge of the cliff near the tree. Far below, the waves broke on a small beach. The ocean rolled out beneath her, shimmering in the moonlight.

Hawaiki, Charlotte thought. Paradise.

Then she flew.

When Jack awoke, all was silent. That was unusual. After all, they had gone to sleep in the middle of an encampment full of Maori, and the beach should be filled with chatter and children’s voices and the crackling of fires.

Jack felt next to him and discovered that Charlotte was gone. Strange, why had she not woken him? He rubbed his forehead and crawled out of the tent.

Sand and sea. Footprints but no tents. Only an old woman—Irihapeti, if his memory served—sat on the beach and watched the waves.

“Where did everyone go?” Fear was growing in Jack. It was as if he were waking into a strange nightmare.

“They’re not far. But it’s better for you to be alone today. Tipene thought you might be angry with us. Though you should not be. You should find peace.” Irihapeti spoke slowly without looking at him.